


awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Drabbles [15]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic, Fluffy, Gen, Len is stressed, M/M, Mick and Len as parents, teensy bit angsty but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "Coldwave, “I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes.”"</p>
            </blockquote>





	awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess

**Author's Note:**

> i know nothing abt babies, but i hope you like it!

Len rubs at his eyes, first because he’s exhausted and then because his eyes kind of itch and then because he feels as though if he opens his eyes, he thinks he might cry. It’s three in the morning, the moon is streaming in through the blinds, Mick is asleep a room over, and one of their kids is crying incessantly. 

Len bounces gently with his son in his arms, cooing softly under his breath and murmuring a stream of lullabies quietly. He carefully brings a pacifier to his son’s lips but it doesn’t take; he reaches for toy after toy, but his son isn’t interested. Len resists the urge to _beg_  for his son to go to sleep and runs through his mental checklist.  

He’s been up for nine hours already, though, and is only running on a few scarce hours of sleep as it is. His mind is certifiably fried; he’s feeling overwhelmed and overemotional and he can’t remember which of his twins is which. 

Mark and Clyde are wearing matching, identical onesies, with identical little mops of light brown hair on the tops of their heads and the same bright, wide yes. One of them is still, thankfully, asleep in his crib. The other is wailing in Len’s arms. 

Len can’t tell them apart in this moment for the life of him. 

He wanders into the kitchen to heat up a bottle of formula against his better judgement; he knows his son probably isn’t hungry, but it’s better than just standing around, he supposes. 

He’s practically dozing off to the drone of the microwave harmonizing with his son’s crying when warm arms wind around his waist. Len leans into the touch and kisses at Mick’s stubble-scratchy cheek. 

“S’wrong, Lenny?” Mick asks in a sleep-slurred voice. He watches their son cry and babble nonsensically. “What’s got’im so worked up?”

Len shrugs and swallows the urge to cry. He’s stretched thin and feeling precariously close to being a failure. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he says after a moment.

Mick hums. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks next, stepping forward as the microwave chimes. 

Len blinks rapidly and shudders. “I–fuck, Mick, I can’t tell which one is which.”

Mick faces his husband with a crooked grin and the warm bottle of formula. He opens his arms and gestures to their son. “Hand him over, Lenny.”

Len does without resistance, and even in spite of the crying and not knowing which of his sons he’s holding, Len misses the weight in his arms instantly. Len shuffles forward and gets as close to Mick and his son as he can; he watches as Mick brings the nipple of the bottle to their son’s lips and waits. 

“I can’t tell them apart, Mick. I knew getting matching onesies was a bad idea.”

“Wasn’t your idea, babe,” Mick points out. “B’sides, I bet this happens to any parents who’ve got twins.” Mick coos in appreciation when his son starts to suckle from the bottle, crying quelled. “Pretty sure this is Clyde.”

Len stares at his son and wills for the answer to come to him.

“Don’t worry about it, Lenny,” Mick tells him. “You’re dead on your feet and it’s the asscrack of dawn, course you’re not gonna be the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Len laughs, wet and choked up. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

“Always am,” Mick replies smoothly.

Nerves finally settling, Len pushes playfully at his husband’s arm. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mick.”

Mick grins; when their son’s eyes start to droop, Mick pulls the mostly empty bottle back and sets it in the sink. “I’ll put him to bed. You should get some sleep.” He doesn’t wait for Len to answer and walks toward their sons’ bedroom. 

Len is almost completely out when Mick slides into bed as well a few moments later. 

“He asleep?” Len asks even though it takes enormous effort to get his mouth to work.

Mick’s grin feels like a brand against his neck. “Both of ‘em, sound asleep for now.”


End file.
